


Given and Unspoken

by cruxcantare



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Mutual Pining, The Losers Club (IT) Stay in Derry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxcantare/pseuds/cruxcantare
Summary: Bill and Mike already have what they’ve been looking for. Neither of them realize this.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Given and Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user hanlonlovebot in it secret santa 2k19. I hope you enjoy this.

**One**

For the entirety of his high school career, every day after the bell rang, Bill Denbrough ran to Silver and recompleted the circle.

Sometimes, he went with his friends, the six of them laughing as they raced towards the Hanlon farm. Sometimes, Ben was in training, or Richie had detention, or any number of other excuses. Sometimes, the others just waited for Mike to ride to them, so they could all seven go to the movies or spend too much time in the food court, tossing around Eddie’s one-way beeper.

If the others caught Bill pocketing food from the cafeteria, they didn’t say a word. If he came early enough in the morning, he pulled two juices out of the cooler, setting one on his tray and feeding the other into his pocket. Bill would grab the bags of apple slices in a tight fist, in hopes of hiding how many bags exactly he took. Of course, had they noticed, Bill wouldn’t have been ashamed to tell them.

But the little gestures felt like a secret between him and Mike, and he liked that. Mike wouldn’t get the folded pieces of loose leaf passed from desk to desk; he wouldn’t get Richie attempting to make Eddie laugh during his presentation and Eddie freaking out at him; he wouldn’t get the secret visits to the third floor girl’s room to smoke whatever Beverly managed to get her hands on. But the snacks were entirely Mike’s.

Bill leaned Silver against the fence and took a moment to breathe. The Hanlon farm felt almost outside of Derry, a safe haven that Pennywise had been unable to touch. His hands pressed into the wood, unworried about the kind of splinters he’s had to pull out numerous times now, and he looked around for Mike.

Mike saw him first. He knew he did, because when he caught sight of Mike, the boy was already running toward him. That easy smile, that white t-shirt… Mike was bright, and Bill couldn’t help but climb over the fence to catch his friend in a hug.

“Grandpa told you about that.”

“I’ll d-d-deal with it.” Bill whispered, head leaning against Mike’s. He hadn’t seen Mike’s grandfather, who seemed to like Bill enough. _Reckless_ , Mike had once told Bill, he thinks you’re _reckless_.

Mike had held the better compliments back, but had told Bill enough to assure him that his recklessness was not a thing to be overcome.

“Just you tonight, Denbrough?”

“J-just me.” Bill’s eyes brightened, and he pulled off his bag. “Oh, and some snacks.”

Mike laughed. Mike preferred to get his chores out of his way so that once the school let out, he could ride with his new circle of friends. He wanted to exchange factoids with Ben, he wanted to get their more orderly friends to race, he wanted to pretend he didn’t notice the way Beverly’s and Bill’s eyes lingered on one another. 

And sometimes, now, it meant freeing up time to discuss baseball with Bill before they did tricks on Silver. No one but him and Bill and the small bounty he always thought to bring. In the beginning of winter, sometimes they sat together and watched the sun set. On those almost summer days, it meant goofing off until his grandfather reminded him that Bill had to go home.

It only meant he should invite Bill to dinner, in reciprocation. They could drive him home once Mike had stolen every extra minute with his friend.

**Two**

The thing Mike learned when Bill sold his first book was that the book came before everything, especially Bill. 

Beverly had complained about the coffee, the energy drinks, the all nighters to all of them. She’d asked Richie to talk to him, and Richie hadn’t left until Bill got three hours of sleep. He followed that up with about thirty six hours of work. Eddie was too attracted to the mess, bringing order to the Denbrough house before he brought it to Bill himself. Beverly did her best, but she’d told Mike that the two eventually just fought.

Well, maybe it was worth it. Bill was a best selling author so young. His next pitch sold for an absurd amount more than the first. Yet, when Bill called to ask about comp titles, Mike suddenly found himself offering up the library after dark to Bill’s research.

If they’re together, Bill would have to take a break.

Bill came around eight, and he showed Mike his pages, both sitting on the rug in the children’s section. Bill’s legs were crossed, and Mike’s were extended in front of him. It was about a young boy and girl who suspected that there was something sinister about the town’s traditions. What Bill had was strange yet intriguing, playing between the oft deceptive imagination of children and something much darker.

Mike could read between the lines, but he couldn’t do that to Bill. The millions who would read this would have no idea about a boy who searched for his little brother despite the people who made him feel crazy.

“Wuh-what do you think?” His diction had come a long way, and yet he tripped over his plea. Mike reached out a hand and rested it on Bill’s knee.

“It sounds like this is going to be pretty heavy but you still managed to find the levity. I like your characters. You imagine kids reading this?”

“Children want to be safely scared.” Bill’s hand rested on his own. “Challenged.”

Mike lingered for a moment before pulling away. “I’ve got an idea. Trust me.”

“Who said I didn’t trust you?”

It took about thirty minutes. He pulled four books quickly, and then the two of them kept exploring the empty library. Too often, he would just allow Bill to pull out a book, reading the back and random pages. Sometimes, Mike knew about the author or the book itself, but mostly he worked off things he’d heard and pull quotes. 

Bill held the books while Mike locked up. “I won’t get you in trouble for this?”

Mike shrugged. “Get them back to me before long and I won’t sell you out.”

“I’m taking you down with me, Mikey.”

Mike grinned. “You want to come upstairs? I can explain my thoughts behind these choices.”

“Sounds good.”

Mike had already hidden his own growing stash of books, the ones about Derry and the unexplainable and maybe even about the clown itself. It was his own project, one he refused to burden his friends with too soon. He’d hoped to keep Bill from running straight to his writing, and luring him upstairs had been part of the plan. Mike bought something to drink, Mike bought snacks, Mike grabbed anything he could to keep Bill from leaving that night.

Bill turned towards his apartment as soon as they got up the stairs, looking up the clocktower. His steps slowed. “So. Did Bev put you up to this?”

“Huh?” Mike knew better than to play dumb with Bill, but he wasn’t sure how to handle this. Needed to buy himself a little more time to think.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I can figure out a set up when I see one.” Bill’s head tilted down from the tower to Mike and his lips stretched into a smile. It was enough to put Mike at ease. Bill continued into the apartment, placing the books down on the long table. He began to spread them out, looking over the covers. They weren’t all horror; Mike had aimed for books about paranoia, about friendship, about faith. “It’s still work, you know. Still gotta read all of these.”

“And you will. When you’re ready.” Maybe it was pushing his luck, but Mike couldn’t help himself. Mike’s apartment was small; it took no time to bound to the fridge. His arm stretched to the top and pulled down a bottle. Instead of asking, he just held out the bottle, and Bill nodded.

Mike wasn’t much of a bartender, but he could pour ginger ale on whiskey. He handed one to Bill and, without a word, their glasses met in a toast.

“Thank you.”

“Toss my name in the acknowledgements and don’t mention it again.” Mike knew whatever help these books were, it would pale in comparison to Mike’s direct line to the author. Bill’s paperback signing was apparently the most well attended event the library had seen in years. It could have been a Borders in Portland but it was here.

“No, I mean it. Thank you. I needed this.” Bill took a long drink, pressing his glass down on the table. “I can’t imagine being anyone else but… Sometimes, when I sit at the computer, all I see is G-G-Georgie.”

Mike’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. He didn’t know what to say to that. He never got to know Georgie Denbrough. His own trauma, of course, lingered at the front, but it seemed like the wrong thing to say. Tonight was about Bill, about Bill’s habit.

“Do you want to talk about that, or do you want a distraction?”

Bill’s brow furrowed, and then he moved away from Mike, reaching for the book on the top of the pile. Once it was in hand, he leaned back against Mike. Mike expected him to turn it over, but instead, he opened the book, finding the first chapter. 

“The great grey beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. Here he was, buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter.”

Mike hadn’t expected Bill to start reading aloud, but he wasn’t about to complain. He didn’t complain when they both kicked off their shoes and the reading moved to his bed, both of their legs stretched out in front of them. If asked later, he wouldn’t remember when exactly the words became a sedative. When he woke up, the light hitting his slanted window like a silent alarm every morning, he wondered if that was Bill’s plan all along, to outlast him and then leave in the middle of the night. 

He turned around.

Bill was inches from him, fast asleep. The motion made Bill’s body shift as well, pressed into Mike’s. Mike breathed in the bright light on them, his cheap white sheets, Bill’s body. His own body was as still as Mike could muster. He couldn’t wake Bill up, not when Bill was finally asleep.

**Three**

Mike hated people who hated Valentine’s Day.

Bill had no opinion either way, really; he was in no position to judge how people dealt with their loneliness. Left alone too long with his thoughts, his mind always wandered to the door frame with the notches that never got to go above four feet. People deserved their distractions. Bill’s Valentine’s Day usually consisted of a slab of meat and a bottle of scotch since he’d left Audra and the possibility of a life in Encinitas behind.

And yet all he can think about was sitting in the Derry Public Library, watching Mike put up paper roses and arrange the Nicholas Sparks books in a display, Mike ranting about the kind of people who were so bitter that they insisted on crusading against the holiday. He took joy in the two for one specials, the red and pink colored town, and Bill loved that about him. He had to call him.

“Hey!”

“Hey Mikey. What have you got going on?”

“Just closing up for the night. How about you?”

“I’ve got some lovely slabs of meat and a bottle of something smoky and twelve years old. I was wondering if you’d like to come over?”

“Bill Denbrough, are you single on Valentine’s Day again?” Last year, it was Mike with a cooler of beer and pork tenderloin. The year before that, it was Bill, gifted sixty year old reds that he might have finished by himself had Mike Hanlon not bravely offered his services.

“Is that a yes?”

“Depends. You got paprika?”

Bill laughed. His shoulder held the phone to his ear while he checked his cupboard. There, half full, was the shaker. “What if I said I didn’t?”

“Give me an hour.”

“And if I said I did?”

“Give me twenty.”

Mike was nothing if not a man of his word. 

Bill held his friend tight, laughing at his punctuality. “You could’ve taken a moment before coming here.”

“And let you cook the steak alone? Pass.” The hug lingered, the way they tend to between two men who learned young that any might be the last one. “God, Bill, we gotta get you out of here.”

“Not this again.”

Mike’s eyes ran over the living room. It didn’t look much like Bill’s house in the late 80s, but the ghost of the Denbrough family lingered on the walls. He knew if he headed to Bill’s room, the room his parents once shared, he’d pass the door frame with the notches for Georgie’s height, brutally always lingering at about four feet.

In a better world, inheriting his parents’ house wouldn’t give Mike the pause it does. But the world isn’t better. The world only gave Mike his friends in exchange for the scar on his hand, the promise that he would save a town that still whispered behind his back about his parents and his sanity.

“Hey.”

Bill grasped his hand and pulled Mike out of his own head.

“Come inside.”

It didn’t take long for the house to smell of their meal. Bill refilled Mike’s glass while Mike pressed a spatula down against the steak. It was the kind of dinner that allowed them both distraction from their fruitless love lives. Bill had nothing serious since Audra, and Mike…

God, Mike hated Derry.

At a table with his longtime friend, eating steak and drinking scotch, it was almost enough to forget how much he hated Derry. They washed the dishes together, despite Bill’s insistence that this was his house and Mike was the guest. They sat together, sipping their drinks, picking for the other some of their favorite episodes of the _Twilight Zone_. Mike liked the ones that presented a mystery, poised to blow his mind. Bill liked having his heart broken.

At one point, Bill’s hand laid on Mike’s.

“I think I watched this episode dozens of times writing my last script. There’s something… vicious about something so innocent being twisted to a dark purpose. Our love. A children’s toy. It never reveals if the grandmother is this sinister being or if the grandmother is just a trick. It’s one of the things I try to put into my endings. And before you say it, I know, I know most people think mine don’t work, but I’m trying. We don’t get an answer. We just… survive. Or we don’t.”

“Don’t get too dark now. Maybe that’s why you’re single on Valentine’s Day.”

“What’s your excuse?”

Mike didn’t miss a beat. “Too tall.”

Bill laughed. “Maybe I’m too short. Too short, too dark, I'm making it hard on myself.”

Mike's hand turned under Bill's and squeezed. Their hands didn’t separate until it was once again Mike’s turn to pick an episode. It wasn’t one of his mystery favorites—he’d initially planned to put on the episode with a Martian in the room—but right then they both needed a happy ending.

**Four**

Choices almost always had deeper consequences than it seemed at first glance.

For instance, when four people sat in Stan’s car, Stan ranting about how he would not ever be their designated driver again, the only consequence seemed to be how quickly they could get Stan to Patty. There were only four people in this car because one of them—Beverly Marsh—had the foresight to avoid this rant, and another of them—Ben Hanscom, in this case— was long pathetically in love with the former. Ben offered to share a cab.

This would not be the night Beverly made a move.

There were multiple ways for the four people in Stan’s car to react to his rant. Like Bill or Mike, they could have taken their scolding with grace. Like Eddie, they could have tried a lovely, drunken apology. Or, they could have responded like Richie.

“You want me to drive Stanley?”

When it became clear that this schtick was interminable, around the twentieth time Richie said “you want me to drive, Stanley?”, Eddie elected to allow Richie to stay in his home to separate Richie from an increasingly red Stan. Eddie apologized four times to Stan, pulling Richie by the arm, swearing Richie would clean any fluids that didn’t find Eddie’s toilet bowl. Had Eddie not made such a speech, Bill would have elected to stay in Eddie’s house as well, to leave Stan with less stops to make. Had Mike not had to work the next day, he might have elected to do the same. Instead, they decided to go to Stanley’s next stop together.

This would be the night Richie made a move. Clumsy fingers traced Eddie’s waistline, alcohol laced breath putrid on Eddie’s face. Eddie’s decision was made far before they ended up in Stan’s car. This would not be the night Eddie responded in kind.

Down to two passengers, with Mike’s work the next day, Bill asked if he minded a guest.

“Long as I don’t gotta make that fluids and toilet speech.”

“Oh please, not again.” Stan groaned.

It was about two when the two of them walked up the stairs to Mike’s apartment, laughing. Mike’s apartment had grown messy over the years, different nooks becoming makeshift bookshelves, but every time Bill came up here, he never seemed to mind. Had Stan gone to the library before Eddie’s, Mike may have taken Richie off Stan’s hands, or Eddie may have come up. If the former, Mike would have been too afraid of Richie’s state to resist cleaning his house a little more. If the latter, Eddie may have drunkenly forced everyone else to work in giving Mike a livable space.

But no, it was just him and Bill.

“Smart money’s on Ben and Bev, right?” Bill was pulling off his jeans; Mike was changing into pajamas. Years at the quarry had given both of them glimpses of the other nearly naked, but that night, both couldn’t help but glance at the other.

“Sorry?”

“No way Eddie’s fucking Richie tonight.”

Mike laughed. “I don’t know. We all drank a little too much tonight. Might not be the best day for anything to blossom.”

“You handle it just fine.”

Mike could have pulled out the air mattress. Instead, he saw Bill in his boxers and shirt, and knew he’d offer up the other half of his bed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared it with one of his friends, or Bill in particular.

“What about you, Mikey?”

“What do you mean, what about me?”

“You got someone on the hook?”

Mike breathed in deeply. Had he not drunk so much that night, he might have been able to laugh it off.

“I don’t think Derry’s got someone for me.”

Bill sat next to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to complain. At one point I thought Derry had no friends for me, even… and I got you.” He could feel Bill’s hand on his shoulder, the small circles. “But sometimes I feel like you all outgrew the Losers Club and I’ll always be… out of place.”

“That’s not true, Mikey.”

“Derry’s not all Bowers, but they’re not all that far off.” Bill’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “I can’t leave, Bill, but sometimes it feels like I’m slowly dying staying here.”

This was the night Bill made a move.

Bill’s hand found the back of his neck, guiding him down. His lips were soft. Their thighs were pressed together; Mike could feel Bill’s fingers massaging the back of his neck. Mike pulled Bill closer, trying to make the position more comfortable. Had Bill done it, he may have hit his head on the sloped window. But Mike knew his small slice of Derry, had hit his head on the glass enough for the both of them.

Warm and mellow. After thinking of his loneliness, Bill’s body was exactly the kind of tonic. Mike’s hands slid under Bill’s shirt up his back, careful caresses turning into small, therapeutic squeezes.

Mike wanted Bill to feel it too, the balm of being together.

The two carefully made their way horizontal. Bill was on top of Mike, and Mike could see the sky dark above him. Bill licked his lips, and that made Mike’s decision for him, catching him in a kiss of his own. They didn’t have to talk much when physically, they were on the same page.

“You’re going to feel _awful_ tomorrow.”

Mike didn’t know what time it was, just grateful neither could see the sun shining above them yet. They were both under the blanket, as they’d been so many times before, and yet this was entirely new.

“I’ll come nap during my break.” Mike rolled closer to Bill. Bill’s boxers were hanging on the frame; every other article of clothing must have hit the ground. “I almost forgot you date supermodels and whatnot.”

Bill laughed, reaching over and hitting Mike in the chest. Mike just grinned in response. His mind is still catching up to the situation, to Bill’s naked body under the blanket. With each random shift of their bodies, Mike could feel a bare thigh or Bill’s abs. Those blue eyes were even more brilliant up close. He craved a more deliberate touch and yet, the steps between what they did and who they’ve been seemed massive.

Too massive.

“Hey, Mikey. What’re you thinking about?”

Mike took a deep breath. The words didn’t come. 

Bill’s hand settled on his arm. Just the touch put him at ease. Bill had to know how he made the Losers all feel—how he made Mike feel—just by being himself.

“Mikey. This… doesn’t have to mean anything, you know. Not if you don’t want it to.”

Bill might as well have punched his heart out of his chest. Perhaps had he worded it differently, Mike might’ve seen just how wide Bill’s eyes were, the way his teeth brushed his lips, the way his tone changed when he asked if _you don’t want it to._ Instead, Mike fixated on this _doesn’t have to mean anything_ , and of course it didn’t. Bill was a multiple time best selling author who had the world waiting for him, and Mike was… a Maine librarian. Mike had given everything up to save his little family and the man inches away from him and he knew he’d make that choice again.

Mike pulled Bill into a hug. “You’re an incredible friend.”

Pressed close like this, Mike didn’t see Bill’s own face drop.

**Five**

“Hey, it’s Mike. From Derry.”

Bill’s lips pulled upward at the words. There was something hopeful in Mike’s tone whenever he made this call, as if he expected Bill to magically throw off the chains of the ancient curse tied to their town.

“Hey Mike. Haven’t forgotten completely yet.”

He’d said it to soothe his friend, but as the words come out so sure, Bill knew that it was true. Usually, when he had to be reminded of his hometown and his promise, the stutter too came back, as if to mock him. No matter how famous he got, or how much was spent on speech therapy, he would still be Stuttering Bill.

“That’s good. You on your way to Houston yet?”

“Actually heading out in the morning instead.”

The threat of the fog, of forgetting his family, soured Bill’s book tours whenever they were announced. The more books he sold, the more cities he was booked for. Often, the schedule was haphazard—whoever planned this book tour to go from Austin to San Francisco and then to Houston must have been out to get Bill—but there were real perks to expenses-paid travel and food, to meeting people who related too heavily to the kind of evils Bill wrote about in his books. It’s all too easy to give into a force that could make monsters into fiction again.

“Good. Don’t want them tiring you out.”

“You know me, Mikey, I’m always tired.”

Bill laid back on the bed. In his head, he could imagine Mike in his reading glasses, sitting straight in his own bed, under the blanket. There’s probably a book open and facedown on the mattress, all but forgotten once Mike decided to call him. 

Mike’s calls were always spur of the moment.

“So, how’s everything back home?” 

Bill cringed at the small talk. It was hard to find something to say to fill in the distance. And yet it warmed his heart to hear about Richie’s finally blooming career, the last date Ben and Beverly went on, or anything about his beloved friends. Yet he missed holding them close every day, not missing a moment. There was no need for updates when they permeated each others’ lives.

“You’ll never guess what came in.”

“Then don’t make me guess, Mikey.”

Mike laughed. “A big old poster with your name on it!”

“What?”

“Yeah, apparently we’re getting a large order of your book? Guess everybody lost their taste overnight.”

“Oh, okay.” He chuckled it off. Bill had heard enough about his endings. The upward trajectory of his sales made the complaints meaningless, unless they were coming from Frank, and he hadn’t made a movie with Frank since Audra. “So I guess I made up the notes in the galley I sent you?”

“I’ll take credit for everything the critics liked and nothing more.”

“Of course.” Bill looked at his hand, at the scar there. Sometimes, it felt enough to fight the fog that threatened his memory of the six people he called family. “Wish you were here, Mikey. I think you’d like San Francisco.”

“You’ll have to show me around.”

Mike hadn’t ever really left Derry. All seven of them knew what leaving would do to them after all this time, but Mike seemed like the only one of them who refused to risk it. Beverly worked in Milan, Ben in Vancouver, Richie all over the states. Stan and Patty took a summer vacation every year. Yet Bill couldn’t remember Mike ever leaving Derry.

“I’m in if you are.”

“It’s a date.”

The wake up call came at 6:30. Bill woke up with his cellphone by his ear. He could hear Mike’s steady breaths through the receiver. It was almost as if his friend was right next to him.


End file.
